and I couldn’t catch my breath, and my lungs were acting desperate, gasping,
pulling me out of the bed trying to find a position that could get them air,
and I was embarrassed by their desperation, disgusted that they wouldn’t just let go,
and I remember my mom telling me it was okay, that I was okay, that I would be okay,
and my father was trying so hard not to sob that when he did, which was regularly, it was an earthquake.
And I remember wanting not to be awake. Everyone figured I was finished,
but my Cancer Doctor Maria managed to get some of the fluid out of my lungs,
and shortly thereafter the antibiotics they’d given me for the pneumonia kicked in.
I woke up and soon got into one of those experimental trials that are famous in the Republic of Cancervania for Not Working.
The drug was Phalanxifor, this molecule designed to attach itself to cancer cells and slow their growth.
It didn’t work in about 70 percent of people. But it worked in me. The tumors shrank.
And they stayed shrunk. Huzzah, Phalanxifor! In the past eighteen months, my mets have hardly grown,
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